Weather Reports
by Temorali
Summary: Ivan was never good at expressing what he truly felt. With Mao, that didn't matter. [1P!Russia x 2P!China oneshot, inspired by Shane Koyczan's "Weather Reports".]


Ivan was never good at expressing what he truly felt. It wasn't that he didn't have emotion, or he didn't care, or that he was embarrassed to show that he cared. In fact, it was just the opposite. He cared deeply – more so than many would ever know. He simply couldn't express himself correctly.

Now, his husband. Wang Mao, they called him, although Ivan had childishly begun referring to him as 'Mao-Mao' some time ago and never stopped. Mao didn't seem to mind. Not when the name passed Ivan's lips because as far as he was concerned, hearing his name said twice only meant that Ivan cared twice as much. Mao also didn't seem to mind the puzzle – yes, sometimes he read Ivan the wrong way like jumbled words on a page and sometimes it led to hurt and anger but where pain tore them apart, their love would heal them better than before.

Ivan wished he could make more sense, to wear his heart on his sleeve, but it was buried somewhere far beneath the snow and only sometimes could he get it warm enough to shine through and reveal itself to his love. And when he would ask Mao about it, the Chinese would simply give him a smile and say that he didn't mind because the cold had never bothered him anyway.

How Ivan loved him.

That morning, Ivan was watching the weather, and he wasn't paying much attention until the word 'cold'. He did not like that word and sure, it was winter, but it had always seemed so warm in Mao's arms but now Mao had to leave for work and Ivan wouldn't be there and the word 'cold' hung over the doorframe like a warning. So when Mao walked out and made his way to the engraved word above the door, Ivan instantly stopped him with, "Wear my coat today."

And Mao tilted his head and tried to protest, saying, "That's yours, it's too big for me, I will be just fine in a jacket," but Ivan wouldn't have it. The Russian stood and took his coat from the hanger and allowed its warmth to embrace Mao for him, and the Asian could do nothing but stare up at him with those tender rubies that danced in Ivan's every thought.

Next came, "Wear my gloves, too."

And Mao again attempted a protest, "The walk is short Ivy," Ivy was the name he had given the Russian, and his heart tripped every time he heard those three letters, "I do not need gloves. I'll be fine."

But again, the Russian could do nothing else than to take his gloves out and slip them onto Mao's delicate fingers which were now swimming in fabric and looked a little silly, but silly made them only more perfect because it was Mao.

And Mao tried to argue one last time but was cut off as Ivan draped his too-long scarf around his neck, parting with it in favor of protecting him from that daunting word 'cold' and its dangers. And Mao couldn't help but to stare up at Ivan as if touched and confused and helplessly in love all at once and the only thing he could think to say was, "I like it when it's cold."

Ivan tilted his head and asked, "Why's that?" And Mao could just smile and shake his head until Ivan asked again, "Why do you like the cold?"

Mao reached his hand up to cup his lover's cheek and caress it and smile a little bit wider, watching Ivan's eyes as he whispered against his lips, "Because you don't like it."

And those words mean more to Ivan than they should because he understands. He understands that Mao understands that he cares, that he loves him, that he wants to protect him from anything. And Ivan leaned in to give him a soft kiss because that way his mouth will be warm so it wouldn't freeze over because Ivan wasn't sure if he could go a day without hearing his voice.

And Mao kissed him back to show him that he didn't need to say anything, because his coat was his protection, his gloves were his memory, and his scarf was his love. He didn't need words. Words were just a sound, actions were the voice.

And through Ivan's actions he proved his love, not that there was anything to be proven. And when Mao pulled back and gave him that soft smile – the one that screamed love and whispered 'you're mine' and was the most beautiful sight in the world – Ivan would smile just a little wider, for happiness is easily magnified even when you thought it could never be greater because there were no limits to love.

The Chinese then fingered the hem of the scarf and looked up into Ivan's violets. And Ivan pulled him close and looked over his head to the doorframe that still read 'cold' but no longer made him worried because now he knew he would be with Mao to protect him and as he had said, the cold never bothered him anyway.

So when Mao left, he left with a coat, a pair of gloves, and a worn scarf, all too large. But they didn't feel large because every empty space was not empty because it was filled with all of the 'I love you's' they shared. And Mao left with a kiss, a promise, the seal on the letter of love that Ivan would write him whenever he was gone. And when he disappeared into the snow, Ivan would smile, because he knew that Mao loved the snow because he didn't and that only made him love him more.

Ivan wasn't good at expressing what he truly felt. But that didn't matter, because Mao understood his love without having to hear. He just had to see.

* * *

 _A little one-shot inspired by Shane Koyczan's_ Weather Reports, _a beautiful poem/song that should be listened to if possible. All of his things are beautiful._

 _Russia x 2P!China is one of my favorite pairings recently. Inspired by Twitter roleplay. If you want to follow my Ivan, you can find me at SolntseTsvetok._

 _And yes, they are making Frozen references. Shh._

 _Characters - Himaruya/Hetalia_

 _Story - Me_


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